


Moult

by orangeCrates



Series: Spread Your Wings [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: An 'Eagle Vision Gives You Wings' fic, Gen, Growing Up is Hard, Kid Fic, Kink Meme, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To have wings is to be able to fly and Altair knows, even if there are no others like him, that one day he will <i>soar</i>.</p><p>Before that, though, he needs to actually grow proper feathers. Not this...fluff. It doesn't help that, unlike real birds who only need five years to reach adulthood, it is generally agreed upon that little boys need at least a decade and a half even if they are assassins.</p><p>And sometimes, it takes even longer than that. </p><p>Either way, the old must make way for the new first.</p><p>A kink meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moult

**Author's Note:**

> Eagle Vision comes with wings. Original prompt [here](creedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=11794798) along with the unbeta'd version.
> 
> Altair's wings are patterned like Short-Toed Eagle wings...not that...it's really all that important. I thought it fit since snakes = Templars and Short-Toed Eagles eat snakes, and all.

_moult: (v.) to shed old feathers or an old shell to make way for new growth._

They allow him to live because he is an innocent and they allow him to stay because his father was a respected assassin.

And because he has talent.

These reasons, however, are not enough to stop the whipsers.

 _Half-breed,_ they say. _Demon child,_ they whisper when they think he cannot hear.

The children are less subtle (because it is not in the nature of children, even assassin children, to be discreet. Not yet) and in a lot of ways, that makes them easier to deal with.

After all, if they are calling him names to his face, then Altair can fight back.

It did not change the fact that he is not normal.

Altair didn't care about that though. If he couldn't be normal then he just needed to be _better_ , that is all there was to it.

So he would appreciate it if the feather on his wings would stop being fluffy down and become actual feathers already.

Altair turns and frowns at his wings as if they personally offended him. Which, to be fair, they did. They are covered in a fine white down with some spots of pale brown where he assumes patterns will grow in. Eventually.

Altair is four, and entirely convinced that there iss some kind of sorcery at play.

He's seen eagle chicks that were born earlier this year take flight with feathers that looked decidedly less ridiculous than his own. In fact, he quietly seeths, this wasn't even the first year he's watched chicks become fledglings. In fact, most of them were attempting to fly before the year was even halfway over.

And through all that, Altair's wings remain white like fresh snow.

They are a _baby's_ wings and a baby, Altair certainly is _not_.

He huffs and lets himself fall back onto his bed, lying on his side. (Never on his back, especially not to sleep unless he wanted to wake up with pins and needle feelings all over his wings.)

Sooner or later, he will get real feathers. Then they'll be sorry they ever laughed.

~ + ~

Altair is five when he reaches back absentmindedly to scratch at his wings. It had been itching for a couple of days now, and he couldn't be sure why.

The tips of his fingers brushes against something that didn't feel...quite right. Still soft though noticeably less than the down he's become used to.

His brow creases in confusion and he sets down the quill in his hand to turn around and look. His fingers combed through the white down and...oh.

He stares, then slowly grins, ecstatic about what he's seeing.

Not even the weird look Malik is giving him could wipe the grin from his face.

(In a very odd way, Altair got along with Malik better than with the other children. If only because Malik has never insulted him because of his parentage or the wings.

...which is not to say Malik did not insult him at all. Because he did. Quite often actually, but only ever about the things Altair had done wrong or any personal flaw Malik saw in his person of which there were too many for Altair to keep track of, but having mixed blood and wings were not, as far as he can tell, among them.

Which is not to say Altair liked him, of course. He just disliked him less, that's all.)

"What are you smiling like a fool at?"

He pauses, knowing that it would annoy the older boy, taking a moment to run his hand over his wing, finding more of the new feathers growing in.

_Finally._

Pleased to confirm what he'd seen (and also to see that Malik looked one second away from throwing something at him) he answers proudly, "My feathers are growing in."

Malik looks interested at the answer. "Let me see."

And Altair lets the older boy walk around the table to inspect his wings, because Altair is not above showing off. Already his head is full of thoughts of flight, of being in the air and catching the shimmers of gold he'd seen in the air with his Second Sight the way he's seen the eagles do.

His wings twitches at the feeling of hands on them, and he is (rudely) pulled from his woolgathering. He doesn't pull away though, as Malik inspected the feathers, running his fingers through the down and over new feathers.

Altair also doesn't fidget (because he is an _assassin_ and an assassin most definitely does not _fidget_ ), but when the only sound Malik makes is a soft, thoughtful hum, he snaps an impatient, "What?"

Malik pulls back with a scoff, though his fingers lingers a little.

(For all that he found Altair insufferable most of the time, Malik had to, if grudgingly, admit that he found the wings more than a little fascinating.)

"You know you're going to look ridiculous until it all grows in."

Altair frowns, "I won't."

"And," Malik adds as if he hadn't heard Altair. "When they do grow in you're going to look a bit like a chicken, I'm afraid."

He doesn't sound particularly sorry and Altair wants to take back what he said about not disliking the older boy.

He sneers, "These are not chicken wings, Malik." He says, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child. (He will not admit it, but this he had picked up from Malik. He will also not admit that it's because no one else could cut someone down to side with only words and tone the way Malik can.)

Malik isn't even phased and just raises a brow, as if that is all the answer he needed to give.

And, a few weeks later, Altair comes to the unfortunate conclusion that Malik was correct. His new feathers grow at a leisurely pace and the old baby down also took it's time to fall off.

The effect is that his wings remain sort of fluffy but with feathers sticking out. That, and he keeps dropping down everywhere he goes.

The entire process takes nearly half a year and during that time, Altair had gotten into a fair number of fights due to snickers and snide remarks. So it is a relief when the last of the down finally falls out, leaving him with a full set of juvenile feathers, brown on top of his wings, and white with light brown markings on the bottom.

Oddly enough, Malik was not among them even if they certainly did fight as well. Altair had half-expected Malik to rub it in, but he hadn't. In fact, when his juvenile feathers grew in completely, he'd even kept the opinion that they looked a bit like chicken feathers to himself. Even if Altair had no doubt that he still thought it.

But whatever Malik might think, Altair still thinks he has a great deal more dignity than a _chicken._

~ + ~

There hadn't been anyone to teach Altair how to fly.

But there hadn't been anyone to teach him how to use his Second Sight either, but he'd managed to figure it out well enough on his own.

It was only a matter of trial-and-error, of not giving up even when things didn't quite work out the way he thought they would. That's all.

Years later, Altair would sit in this very spot with Malik at his side and marvel at how very foolish he had been.

Malik will scoff and tell his Grandmaster that Altair had never had much sense growing up.

_Besides, I have never known you to do anything by halves._

And Altair would have to agree on both points.

Today though, Altair is by himself, standing on the beam where he had taken his first real Leap of Faith.

Today he stands here, proud and fearless in the way only a seven year old knows how to be, so certain that his first attempt at flight will be a success he doesn't even bother to try from some place closer to the ground.

Altair slips into his Second Sight and his wings flutter as he catches sight of a swirl of gold in the air. It is different from the way people and things that are important glow a single, solid colour. Instead it looked like a collection of fine gold dust, glittering as it spiralled in the air.

It isn't that far from where he stands, close enough that he's sure he could reach it if he jumped.

His wings settle on his back for a moment as the golden glow faded from his eyes. He flaps his wings a few time, as if to warm them up, then he gingerly spreads them. It is a movement he'd observed eagles nesting near the fortress do. The way he had practised late into the night when he was sure no one will see.

He folds his wings again and, after a deep breath, spreads them again in the same way, but the motion is faster this time, and he jumps away from the beam--

\--and he didn't time that quite right, and he drops instead of flying.

For a moment, his heart leaps into his throat. There is no haypile or safe place to land, and even if there were it is much too late to turn around, to make it a Leap of Faith safely and--

\--in the next moment, instincts took over and he flaps his wings. Once. Twice. And he manages to slow and with a third beat of his wings he is rising again, if jerkily. Another beat and then--

\--then he is _soaring_. There is pressure beneath him, and the air feels slightly different here and a quick look with his Second Sight confirms what he already knows.

He's surrounded by glittering _gold_.

He stops flapping then and instead, spread his wings. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, angles his body so he iss gently banking, rising higher as he turns in the air as he'd seen the eagles do.

It isn't very smooth in the beginning and he's glad he had chosen to try this in a part of the fortress that didn't see much traffic this time of day as he works out the exact angle of his turns and tries to figure out how and where to adjust his wings so he goes exactly where he means to go.

And, all the while, he couldn't stop _grinning_ and he flies until he feels his wings tremble and the muscle in them burn from the strain of being held out too long.

(He botched his landing completely, of course, went down far too fast and ended up in a heap on the ground.

Years later Altair had to admit that he was lucky to come out of the whole thing with only a scraped elbow and knees.)

~ + ~

The second time Altair began to moult, it was during his adolescence, when most boys his age were all in an awkward time where their bodies were changing.

Between voices breaking and growing pains, Altair's second moult seemed to stick out less than his first one did. This was helped along by the fact that there seemed to be fewer feathers growing in.

It was a slower process this time, beginning with a few of his primaries before he went on to lose some of the smaller feathers along the bottom edge of his wings. The feathers that grew in were smoother and richer in colour: real, adult feathers and Altair practically preened when he realized.

It was also around this time, when Altair began filling out when he;d finished shooting up, that the whispers and snide remarks lessened.

They were still there, but spoken less often as he became more renowned for his skills. There were those who were jealous, but even more now were those who looked upon him in awe.

Malik, of course, were not a part of the latter and they still often got into fights. As the years went on, it became harder and harder for Altair to remember why he'd liked the other boy in the first place.

By the time the last of his adult feathers grew in, he no longer cared enough to remember.

~ + ~

His primary feathers are clipped after Solomon's Temple, his ability to fly being one of those things Al Mualim saw fit to take from him despite the fact that it was an ability he had mastered before achieving the rank of master.

It rankled. It was bad enough to know that he had failed knowing that it would be another year before new feathers would grow in and he could be in the air again made it worse.

(And the guilt ate at him even more persistently than the itch of cut feathers.)

It wasn't until he entered Jerusalem's bureau for the first time after his demotion that his irritation over the clipping of his wings faded to something more like shame.

At least his feathers would grow back.

After that, he finds he's losing something of himself again. Like the down and the juvenile feathers it falls out bit by bit on the roads between Masyaf, Acre, Damascus and Jerusalem, to be replaced by something new, something different.

And, as before, what he gains is always so much more than what he's lost.

~ + ~

"Are you preening?"

Altair looked over his shoulder and gave Malik an unimpressed look at the amused tone the man took. He did, however, prefer Malik's humour over his anger...even if he still didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"It gets uncomfortable if I don't." And with that grumble he went back to running his fingers through his wings, combing through the feathers slowly and deliberately.

Malik let out a quiet sound, neither agreeing nor commenting either way before he dropped down to sit beside Altair.

"How do you get the feathers at the back?"

"Why the sudden interest in my grooming habits?"

Malik shrugged. "It would not if word gets out that our Grandmaster is scruffy." He said seriously, but there's a glint of humour in his eyes and Altair laughs.

"It is not the worse that I've been called."

He smoothed a palm over the feathers of one wing before starting on the next. "As I recall, you used to say I resembled a chicken."

"That's because you did."

And they fell into a comfortable silence after that. They're sitting on one of the higher areas of Masyaf, where the novices were taught the Leap of Faith. Sometimes it gets unbearably windy this high up, but today there is only a pleasant breeze. Altair paused in his preening for a moment to stare out at the sky.

"...this was where I learned to fly."

Malik turned to him and blinked. "Truly?"

"Yes." Then he added, "Looking back, it was a foolish thing to do."

A scoff, "You never did have much sense growing up."

Altair tore his gaze from the sky to look at where Malik's left arm should have been.

"Not really. No."

Malik, despite not actually looking at him, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and kicked him. Then continued as if he hadn't done anything.

"I'm not surprised though. I have never known you to do anything by halves."

 

END


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